Unease
by JourneyoftheLost
Summary: Fifteen year old Shawn learns one night that not everyone is what they seem.


**A/N: **So this is my first attempt at a Psych story. I hope y'all enjoy it. I would like to give special thanks to BrokenSky49 for beataing this story for me.

**Disclaimer:** Same as always, I own nothing.

_Unease_

Shawn was nervous; not an 'asking a girl out on a first date' kind of nervous, more like a 'there is something not right with this scene and he can't figure it out' kind. It was unsettling, and he could not figure out what was causing it.

It was an average Thursday night; a mild sixty degrees—a typical temperature for March. After school, Shawn had gone over to Gus's house to play video games on his best friend's Super Nintendo. Now, it was nearly 5:30—or as Shawn's father called it, 'late for dinner'—and he was making his way home with his heavy backpack on his shoulders.

This was not the first time he had walked down this street at this time, but it was the first time he could ever remember feeling anything like this while on this street. The sun was setting and the day had reached those few minutes of twilight that made the world look a little strange. That was affecting his mood, but he did not believe it was the cause of his nervousness.

The fifteen year old had walked down this road every day, twice a day, for the past four years. This was the street he had to take to get to and from school. The residents of the street were mostly elderly couples with a few younger families scattered around. To a teenager, it was an incredibly boring neighborhood. Shawn thought it was possibly the most uneventful street in the world. Cookie cutter houses lined the long road, each with its own perfectly manicured yard. Even the houses were boring.

The sky in the distance was a light orange color, but Shawn hardly took any of it in. The feeling of unease was still with him and he could not stop himself from constantly looking over his shoulder.

He started to walk a little faster. The off coloring of the evening made him feel a little more paranoid. He did not know what was out there, but he was pretty sure that he did not want to meet it.

The road loomed on in front of him. It had never seemed this longer before. Shawn almost had the feeling that you get in nightmares; the one where you are trying to run away, but you cannot move quickly enough because there is a force pushing against you—almost like a strong wind keeping you in place.

He felt like he was pushing himself down the street as fast as he could, but it seemed like he was not making any progress. It was frustrating, and it was making him feel even more anxious.

He could clearly see the end of the street and the beginning of his own, but he could not reach it. If he did not know any better, he would say that with each foot he took, the street gained three more.

He felt his panic begin to rise as he heard a noise come from behind him. All rational thought left him, and he bolted down the street. His backpack bounced heavily against his back as he ran.

All he needed to do was get to the end of the street. Once he was there, he would be fine.

That was much easier said than done.

He was stumbling down the street more than he was running. His panic caused him to lose his equilibrium. He was sure that he had been making more progress when he was walking.

Shawn slowed down in an attempt to gain control of his body. Once his movements were under control, he sped up to a fast walk. He continued to look around him as he moved down the street.

The road looked just as empty as it had when he had first turned onto it. There was no sign of whatever it was that had made the noise.

Shawn told himself to trust his eyes, but the feeling of unease refused to go away.

He tried to convince himself that everything was fine. He had gone down this street hundreds of times before, and nothing had ever happened. Everything was fine. His overactive imagination was just acting up again.

That had to be it. There was no reason to believe otherwise.

Shawn forced himself to calm down and stop looking around every five seconds, but he kept up his pace. Once he was home he could laugh about how silly he had been acting, but until then—well, he wasn't going to let his guard down.

He was so close. He could see the end of the street, and just beyond that; his house.

He sighed in relief when he finally made it to the stop sign at the end of the street. His house was just across the road and four houses down.

By this time, the off coloring of twilight was gone and the sun had almost completely set. The street lights were beginning to turn on as the last trails of sunlight left the neighborhood.

This street was almost as quiet as the previous street had been. The only exception was Mr. Simmins unloading his car in his driveway.

Shawn did not know Mr. Simmins well. The man had only lived in the neighborhood for a little over a year. Shawn's father had taken the time to get to know their neighbor, but Shawn was a teenager and he was not interested in meeting random middle aged men, even if he did live a couple of houses away from him.

Once he was sure there were no cars coming, Shawn crossed the street. He started toward his house, but he did not make it very far before he heard a voice call his name.

He stopped and turned around. Mr. Simmins had stopped unloading his car. He was standing near the end of his driveway smiling at Shawn.

"Good evening, Shawn," Shawn smiled at his neighbor awkwardly. He thought it was a little strange that Mr. Simmins knew who he was. This was the first time that the two of them had spoken. He assumed that his father had mentioned him. The uneasy feeling was spiking. He thought the feeling might go away once he was closer to his house, but it was only growing.

"Hullo, Mr. Simmins," Shawn backed away from the man. Mr. Simmins seemed like a normal enough guy. He was wearing jeans, a t-shirt and tennis shoes. Not unusual attire for someone living next to the beach. And he had a full head of brown hair. His casual appearance was neat, and there was no obvious reason to mistrust the man—and yet. Something was off. Shawn had to fight the desire to ignore the man and run home, but fifteen years of living with his father taught him not to be rude.

Mr. Simmins continued to smile, something that was really beginning to creep Shawn out. "Could you do me a huge favor and help me carry a few thing out of my truck?" Mr. Simmins gestured to the vehicle behind him.

Shawn hesitated. Warnings from elementary school, and his father, of not talking to strangers flashed though his head. He chose to ignore them. He was not seven years old anymore, and besides, Mr. Simmins was not a stranger, he was a neighbor.

"Sure. I guess I can spare a few minutes," Shawn moved toward the truck.

"Thank you so much. I took a fall the other day at work and now it is difficult for me to lift anything that weighs more than a couple pounds." He followed close behind Shawn.

Shawn frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you are okay." He stopped at the cab of the truck and looked inside. Grocery bags took up much of the passenger seat and floor.

"It wasn't too bad of a fall. The doctor said I should be fine in a couple of weeks." Mr. Simmins leaned against the truck as Shawn grabbed the bags.

Most of the bags were packed with just a few items so Shawn was able to grab all but a couple of them from the truck.

"You can just take those through the garage and leave them in the kitchen. It is the first room when you walk in." Mr. Simmins said as he picked up the last two bags.

Shawn heard the man close the truck door and follow him into the garage as he made his way to the kitchen.

The garage was dark, but there was a light coming from the inside of the house that lit his way. The darkness of the garage prevented him from taking in anything that may have been in the room, but the moment he stepped into the brightly lit kitchen his young eyes took in everything.

The kitchen was about the same size of the kitchen in his house. The counter tops were a neon-orange plastic laminate, Shawn could see some stains on it from where he stood. The cupboards had deep red dyed doors and drawers and the walls were covered with horrible seventies floral wallpaper. An old gas stove stood in the center of the counters. A bare refrigerator was right next to the door that led to the garage. A single small table with two chairs was the only other thing in the room. Behind the table was an archway that led out of the kitchen.

The counter tops were bare and Shawn did not see a single dirty dish. It looked like the kitchen was hardly used.

From what Shawn heard from his dad, Mr. Simmins was not married and he had no children. And from the looks of the kitchen, he also did not eat.

Curious, Shawn looked down at the bags he still carried. He could only see boxes of food. It was the kind of stuff he would love to live off of, but his parents would never allow it.

Shawn's arms began to strain from the weight of the bags. He carried them over to the nearest counter and lifted them up. He let the bags fall onto the counter and he worked on untangling them from his arms.

Once his arms were free, he turned around expecting to see Mr. Simmins coming in behind him, but he was the only one in the room. Mr. Simmins was nowhere to be seen.

A confused expression passed over Shawn's face as he looked around for the older man, and then the persistent feeling of unease was back.

He needed to get out of this house.

He turned back to the door he had come through. It was closed. Shawn frowned as he moved to the door. He tired the handle. Locked. How had he not noticed the door closing? For the second time that night he began to panic. He needed to find and exit, without finding Mr. Simmins first.

Shawn rushed towards the opening leading out of the kitchen. He entered a hallway. At the end of it lay the front door. Halfway from his position to the door was another door, which possibly led to a bathroom or a basement or anything, and across from that was a flight of stairs.

Shawn was afraid to go down the hallway, but it was his only path to that door, and he had not seen any other exits in the kitchen.

He took a deep breath and bolted for the door.

He did not make it as far as he hoped he might. Right after he passed the stairs, he was tackled from behind. A gasp of shock escaped his lips as he fell.

The side of his head smacked hard into a side table he had not noticed at first. This was just not his night. He groaned and turned to lie on his back, but he was stopped by his backpack. He had forgotten he was still wearing it.

He did not have long to ponder over his book bag. Mr. Simmins grabbed onto Shawn's left ankle and began to pull him toward the closed door in the hall.

Shawn kicked out with his free leg and he was rewarded with a hit. He could not tell where he hit the older man, but it was enough to get the man to let go of his leg.

Shawn quickly stood up, but Mr. Simmins recovered quickly. Shawn tried to make a break for the front door, but Mr. Simmins grabbed onto his backpack and pulled him towards him. The movement surprised Shawn and he was unable to stop it.

Mr. Simmins managed to get the door open as Shawn struggled to get his backpack off. Shawn was twisted around so he was standing in front of a descending staircase. Unfortunately for Shawn, the movement allowed him to get his bag off his back. Without Mr. Simmins' support, Shawn fell forward.

He did not remember much of the fall down the stairs, just the pain in his left leg as it twisted and then landed under him at the foot of the stairs. Shawn could not stop the cry of pain as one of his bones snapped under the pressure. He did not have long to fret over his pain. He heard Mr. Simmins follow him down the stairs.

Shawn began to scoot back; his newly broken leg prevented him from moving quickly. It did not take long for Mr. Simmins to catch up to him, but Shawn did not stop moving back until he ran into a wall.

Mr. Simmins stopped next to him, still wearing that same eerie smile.

Shawn looked up at the older man, fear shining brightly in his eyes. He utter the only thing he could think of, "Why?"

Mr. Simins' smile grew, but he did not answer.

Shawn flinched as Mr. Simmins bent down next to him. The man reached for something along the wall behind Shawn. A chain rattled and Shawn's eyes grew wide.

Shawn reached behind him blindly. He needed something, anything, that could help him defend himself. He might have been able to find something in his backpack, but he did not know what had happened to it.

He was not having any luck finding anything and Mr. Simmins had almost pulled the chain out.

Shawn began to move to the side. He needed to get as far away from the other man as he could. His movements were stopped when a large hand roughly grabbed onto his broken leg. Shawn shouted in pain and stopped moving.

Mr. Simmins pulled the chain out next to Shawn. Shawn could see it clearly. It was a long silver chain linked together. One end went into the shadows behind Mr. Simmins—Shawn assumed it was attached to something—and a metal cuff was attached to the end in the man's hand.

Shawn mumbled no and leaned away. Mr. Simmins tightened his grip on Shawn's injured leg. He leaned over, about to attach the cuff to Shawn's leg.

Shawn flailed his arms around. One arm got Mr. Simmins in the head. The other man stopped his movements and grunted. Shawn used the distraction to stand up, but he only made it one step before the pain in his leg sent him back to the floor. He was unable to make another attempt as Mr. Simmins grabbed onto his leg again and locked the cuff around the ankle of his injured leg.

Shawn looked up at the older man not bothering to hide the fear he was feeling. He reached over and tried to take the cuff off his leg, but the metal was strong and he was not going to be able to get it off without a key—or a jack hammer.

Giving up on the cuff, Shawn pushed himself back against the wall and to the side, trying to get as much distance from Mr. Simmins as he could. He kept moving until the chain ran out of slack and pulled on his broken leg. He could not stop the tears that filled his eyes at the pain.

All the while, he could feel Mr. Simmins's eyes following him. Shawn regained his composure and glared at the man. "You do know my dad is a cop right? He is going to start looking for me if I don't come home soon." Shawn didn't think he would be able to talk himself out of this situation, but talking was what he did, it helped him control his panic.

But Mr. Simmins kept quiet, still with that smile on his face. Shawn almost wished the man would yell at him and tell him all of the horrible things he was going to do to him. The silence was beginning to bother him more than any other part of this situation. And that smile. He knew that Mr. Simmins did not mean him any good, but he was not sure what the smile meant—and he was starting to think that he did not want to know.

Shawn was happy when the older man turned around and moved to the stairs. He heard him walk up the stairs and close the door. He groaned when he heard a lock click. Now he was all alone, chained, and locked in a basement. He wasn't sure how he was going to get out of this one. He did not think that his dad would think to look for him here. No. He was going to have to get out of this on his own.

He tried to look around the room, but there was no light to help him. It was pitch black; he could hardly even see his own hands. He could see a sliver of light around the door at the top of the stairs, but that was about it.

If he somehow managed to find something to pick the lock on his cuff, he would not be able to see what he was doing. He was going to have to find another way out.

Shawn reached over and pulled on the chain. It felt strong, but he knew that there might be a weak link somewhere. If he could break the chain, then he would just have to get through the locked door and then out the front door, without Mr. Simmins catching him again, and then he would have to make it home with a broken leg.

So just a few minor obstacles.

He would have to worry about the other problems later. First he needed to get his leg free. There was only one way he could find out of the chain had a weak link. Shawn turned around so he was facing the wall. He braced his good leg against the wall and grabbed onto the chain with both hands. He pulled with all of his weight.

The chain did not budge.

Shawn was not going to give up. He bent his leg and moved his grip further down the chain, closer to the wall and away from his leg. He pulled again.

This time he heard a faint noise from the wall. He smiled to himself and pulled again. He fell back some when the chain moved. He was making progress; he was not going to stop now. He gave one last strong pull and the chain was ripped from the wall.

Shawn froze, listening for any noise coming from upstairs. He did not think the chain had made that much noise, but he wanted to be sure.

Once he was sure Mr. Simmins was not coming back down, he pulled the chain closer to him, trying to find the piece that broke. He pulled until the entire length of chain was on his lap. He finally felt the part that broke. It was not a broken link. Shawn had managed to pull the chain out of the wall.

That brought up another problem. The chain was still attached to his leg. He was going to have to carry it home—or let it drag behind him.

He maneuvered his body so his back was against the wall again. He took a deep breath and pushed himself up with his good leg. By the time he was standing straight, he was breathing deeply. It took more effort than he thought to push himself up with just one leg.

He glanced in the direction of the stairs. He was going to have to hop. He was not going to put any pressure on his leg unless he had no other choice.

He leaned over and gathered up the chain. There was too much of it to carry in just one hand so he let some of it fall back to the floor. He held the chain in one hand and used the other to balance himself against the wall as he hopped.

Shawn slowly began to hop toward to the stairs. He remembered hopping being so easy as a child, but now it was difficult to stay balanced and he had to stop himself from putting his broken leg down.

Finally he made it to the stairs. He looked up and frowned. Hopping up the stairs with a chain in his hand was not going to be easy. He did not know of any other way he could get up the stairs. Hopping would be the quickest way. He did not have time to lose. He took another deep breath and began to hop.

It was not an easy task, but it was not nearly as difficult as Shawn thought it would be. He smiled when he made it to the top, but the frown quickly returned when he remembered the door was locked. He tried to think of a way through the door, but every thought he came up with involved breaking the door down or making a lot of noise. He needed to find a quiet way out. He was in no condition to run home.

He leaned against the wall, giving his aching leg a chance to rest. He reached over and tried the door handle. He gave it a light twist and was not surprised to find the door locked, but he felt something on the knob. He had an idea of what it could be, but it did not seem real.

He pulled his hand back a little and then felt along the knob. There in the center of the door know was the lock. He could not believe it. It all seemed too easy. Why would Mr. Simmins take the time to lock the door if it could just be unlocked from the other side?

It occurred to Shawn, that Mr. Simmins had not expected him to get out of the cuff and out of the door. That one thought gave Shawn the boost of confidence he needed.

If Mr. Simmins had not expected him to get out of the cuff then he would not be watching for anyone coming out of the basement.

This was his chance to get out. He turned the lock and slowly turned the knob, trying not to make a sound. He really hoped that the door did not squeak. He pulled the door open a crack and looked out into the hallway. He did not see Mr. Simmins anywhere and he could not hear anything from around the door.

Shawn pulled the door open all the way and crept out, adjusting his grip on the chain. He figured he would make too much noise if he tried to hop down the hall, so he took the chance and stepped down on his leg.

He covered his mouth with his free hand to stop the gasp of pain that escaped his throat. He moved his hand and bit down on the inside of his cheeks. He put his hand against the wall and painfully moved down the hall.

He sighed in relief when he made it to the door without encountering Mr. Simmins. Shawn did not even bother looking around before opening the door. He was so close to freedom. The door opened with no problem and he hobbled out of the house.

He was unable to stop the cry of joy at the feeling of fresh air on his face. He shook his head and reminded himself that he still needed to get home. He moved off the porch and made his way across the lawn. He was so anxious to get home that he was not even trying to hop anymore. He knew that he was probably making his leg worse, but he would worry about that later.

Shawn struggled down the street. Pain shot through his entire body every time he put weight on his leg. He was one house away from his house when he looked behind him and saw something that made him freeze for a second.

Moving quickly toward him was Mr. Simmins. Shawn turned back around and half walked, half ran toward his house. He could hear the footsteps behind him as Mr. Simmins chased him.

"Dad!" Shawn began when he reached his yard. "Dad!" He did not think that he had ever yelled so loud in his life. His new panic and adrenaline from the night's events were fueling his voice.

He could see movement behind the door. His dad was coming. He would make everything alright. He would deal with Mr. Simmins and Shawn could sit down and rest.

"Shawn!" Henry Spencer appeared behind the glass door. Shawn could feel the glare turned on him for a second before he saw his father look behind him at the man who was still chasing his son. A dark look passed Henry's face and Shawn was relieved when his father ran out of the house and placed himself between Shawn and Mr. Simmins.

Shawn turned around, but he did not stop backing up as his dad moved toward their neighbor. He heard a dangerous voice come from his father—one he never wanted to hear directed at him. "What do you think you are doing?" Shawn saw Mr. Simmins back away a little at the tone. He stopped moving and looked at Shawn. His smile came back on his face and Shawn cringed away.

The older man moved to come toward the injured teenager, but Henry went at the man before he could take two steps. Shawn saw his dad's fist fly and hit the other man in the face. Mr. Simmins did not back away from the fight, he returned the punch.

The fight continued until sirens could be heard getting closer. Shawn looked around and saw a few of his neighbors standing on their lawns watching the fight. He guessed that one of them had called the police. He was glad. He did not want to be around that man any longer.

It did not take long for the police to arrive and break up the fight. Shawn watched in a haze as one of the cops handcuffed Mr. Simmins and took him to a squad car, while another talked heatedly to his father.

He jumped when he felt someone put a hand on his shoulder. It was then that he realized that he was sitting down. His leg must have stopped supporting him sometime during the fight. He looked at the person who was kneeling in front of him. It was a paramedic. He flinched away and looked around for his father, suddenly not wanting to be around anyone he did not know. He saw him moving quickly toward him.

Shawn ignored the pain in his leg and stood up to meet his father. He launched himself into his father's arms, not caring who was around to see him. He did not know how long he had been trapped in Mr. Simmins's house, but it was long enough for him to not want to leave his house for a while. He felt safe for the first time that night as his father's strong arms circled around him.

"Come on, Kid. You need to be checked out." His father spoke to him quietly.

Shawn reluctantly nodded and released himself from his father's arms. He let his father lead him back to the porch and help him sit down. He was glad when his dad sat down next to him. He leaned into the older man as the paramedic, a woman in her thirties, looked over him. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off. He knew his father would take care of anything that came up.

"Shawn," the voice in his ear woke him up. He looked over at his dad. "The paramedics say you should go to the hospital and get a cast on that leg."

Shawn did not really want to go to the hospital, but he was too tired to fight. He nodded and let his dad help him up. Once he was standing he noticed that the cuff was no longer on his ankle. He looked at his dad questioningly.

"They took it off while you were dozing off. They took it as evidence," Shawn was glad his dad knew what he wanted to know.

"Do I have to go in an ambulance?" On any other day he would have been thrilled at the idea of getting to ride in an ambulance, but tonight he just wanted to go with his dad and get the trip to the hospital over with.

"I don't see any reason why we can't go in my truck," Shawn saw his dad nod at one of the paramedics. They seemed to know what the nod meant and they closed up the back of the ambulance, got in the vehicle and drove away to the next emergency.

Shawn and his dad walked, and hopped, to the truck and got in. After Shawn was all belted in, he leaned his head against the window and vowed to himself that if he ever got that feeling of unease again he was just going to run home and not stop for anything.


End file.
